“I mean to take your advice”—and she tucked the little bundle under her
arm. I congratulated her cordially and ventured to make of my triumph,
as I presumed to call it, a subject of pleasantry. But she was perfectly
grave and turned away from me, as she had presented herself, without
relaxing her rigour; after which I settled down to my quarto again with
the reflexion that Mrs. Ambient was truly an eccentric. My triumph, too,
suddenly seemed to me rather vain. A woman who couldn’t unbend at a
moment exquisitely indicated would never understand Mark Ambient. He
came back to us at last in person, having brought the Doctor with him.
“He was away from home,” Mark said, “and I went after him to where he was
supposed to be. He had left the place, and I followed him to two or
three others, which accounts for my delay.” He was now with Mrs.
Ambient, looking at the child, and was to see Mark again before leaving
the house. My host noticed at the end of two minutes that the
proof-sheets of his new book had been removed from the table; and when I
told him, in reply to his question as to what I knew about them, that
Mrs. Ambient had carried them off to read he turned almost pale with
surprise. “What has suddenly made her so curious?” he cried; and I was
obliged to tell him that I was at the bottom of the mystery. I had had
it on my conscience to assure her that she really ought to know of what
her husband was capable. “Of what I’m capable? Elle ne s’en doute que
trop!” said Ambient with a laugh; but he took my meddling very
good-naturedly and contented himself with adding that he was really much
afraid she would burn up the sheets, his emendations and all, of which
latter he had no duplicate. The Doctor paid a long visit in the nursery,
and before he came down I retired to my own quarters, where I remained
till dinner-time. On entering the drawing-room at this hour I found Miss
Ambient in possession, as she had been the evening before.
“I was right about Dolcino,” she said, as soon as she saw me, with an air
of triumph that struck me as the climax of perversity. “He’s really very
ill.”
“Very ill! Why when I last saw him, at four o’clock, he was in fairly
good form.”
“There has been a change for the worse, very sudden and rapid, and when
the Doctor got here he found diphtheritic symptoms. He ought to have
been called, as I knew, in the morning, and the child oughtn’t to have
been brought into the garden.”
“My dear lady, he was very happy there,” I protested with horror.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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